Richard Wink is a poet and raconteur from the picturesque rabid pastures of Norfolk, revelling in high octane madness and mundane meanderings along the Wensum. Wink's passionate wordplay is displayed in this magbificent collection: The Magnificent Guffaw.

 

He stares at the stars, part myth part mortal. Enigmatic, bombastic and eccentric - here is a writer riding the wave of precocious productivity and if you want to get in touch with him (and you surely will) then click HERE... 

 

Wink is also editor of the creatively insane literary journal Gloom Cupboard

 

Guts Up

 

This road has a cut through where the drunks stop to puke

An empty bottle of PVA and white smeared plastic bags leads me to

conclude that the local kids have learnt how to sniff glue.

If you time it right you can avoid the hassle

Walk through the cut through without the fear of being mugged.

On occasion you can confuse them by playing a mental from

the local hospital

chuck a rotten cabbage

scream like a dirty filthy banshee.

By this rule of thumb

madness conquers fear

 

Friday

a brick came through the window.

I didn’t account that they would follow be home,

or that the next morning

my car would be burnt out down the alley

 

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